Always Answer The Phone

In Light Of Things

"I tell you, on the day of judgment men will render account for every careless word they utter; for by your words you will be justified, and by your words, you will be condemned." (Mat. 12:34-37)

"Hey, Alfred?" A young child, a few months shy of twelve, spoke softly. He was seated at a bar stool, overlooking the kitchen where the elderly man was working, busying himself with the makings of a meatloaf.

"Yes, Master Dick?" The butler replied, stopping his work on tonight's dinner. Master Dick had been unusually quiet these last few hours, but Alfred hadn't said anything. He wanted to give the lad enough time to build up the confidence to tell him what was wrong by himself. He'd done that plenty of times when Master Bruce was still young and unwilling to share at the first request. It always seemed to work, eventually.

The boy sighed deeply and looked out the window for a moment, resting his head on the counter, eyes cast downward. "I can't stop thinking about what would've been, Alfred." His voice cracked slightly, revealing how much this thought was distressing him. How much it meant to him.

Alfred hummed in response, moving over to the sink to wash his hands. He had a bad feeling about where this conversation was headed. Worried about the path his grandson was walking down. He was glad Dick brought it up to him, rather than Master Bruce, however sad that may sound. Bruce probably would have panicked and said the wrong thing, in turn hurting Master Dick. Alfred wasn't trying to trash Master Bruce, but the man had the emotional capacity of a banana, and a bruised one at that.

Getting back on track and mentally preparing himself for the conversation ahead, Alfred quickly dried his hands and took a seat on the empty stool next to Dick, thinking quietly for a few minutes, wondering how he was going to word things.

"My boy, what could you possibly mean by that?" This was not a time for titles, Alfred decided. Just an old man giving his two-cents to the younger generation. He rested a hand on Dick's shoulder, encouraging him to look towards him and speak. He wanted to let the boy know he was willing to listen.

"You know you can tell me anything," Alfred started, "In fact, I won't even tell Master Bruce about this conversation if you don't want me to," he offered. He needed to get the boy started. Once he did, Alfred knew Dick would tell him everything.

"I know," Dick sighed once more and wiped under his nose with the back of his hand. "I just can't stop thinking about it," he started, meekly at first, scared. "I mean, what if they hadn't died?" He asked, wringing his hands together tightly, still trying to put his thoughts into words, "Would I still be flying with them in the circus?" He trailed off, losing himself in memories.

Jolting back, he waved a hand for reassurance, "Don't get me wrong, I love it here with you and Bruce, and I can never thank you enough for taking me in, it's just that," he scrunched his face, trying to find a way to say this nicely, "Is it so wrong for me to wish I was still with them?" Small pools of water began to form in his eyes, not yet large enough to fall as tears.

Alfred thought for a moment, rubbing circles on Dick's back. He hadn't been prepared for Master Dick to feel this way. He'd always been such a happy child despite the tragedy that brought him here. Alfred could only pray the boy doesn't suffer from any severe depression in the near future. He was not naive enough to hold the belief that depression could be avoided altogether. So instead, he simply hopes it's not severe.

"Master Dick, I want you to listen to me very closely, can you do that?" Alfred spoke, finally deciding on what he was going to say.

Dick nodded, straightening his back and focusing all his attention onto his Grandfather figure.